Voices in the Mist
by HedgeNinja
Summary: Resubmitted Set during PotC DMC, semisequel to Volunteer. Will is gone, Jones is furious. Someone's going to suffer. Hope can be a dangerous thing... Rated T for future chapters violence, language
1. Musings

Voices in the Mist Ch. 1

Set during PotC II: DMC. Will is gone, Jones is furious. Someone's going to suffer. Hope can be a dangerous thing…

Rated T for later chapters.

Bootstrap watched as the longboat and Will fell astern of the Dutchman, as if by staring he could lend strength to the fragile craft and prevent it from being swamped by the heaving swell. Will's attention was focused on keeping her upright yet despite his assertions about not having led a life at sea he'd obviously picked up some skills fast during his time with Jack. Family trait perhaps, Bootstrap thought, even if he couldn't take credit for anything else in the man Will had become.

He strove to etch the image in his mind as the boat slid over the crest of a wave into the choppy darkness beyond the meager gleam of the Dutchman's lanterns. The light seemed almost solid as it caught the sheets of rain, a tangible barrier between the worlds of the living and the dead. Or worse than dead. It had represented the confines of a prison more nights than Bill could remember, yet perhaps tonight he was witness to the first escape ever.

It seemed an especially vicious play of fate that had brought them together for such a brief time, courtesy of Jack dragging those around him into risking themselves to help him cheat the devil's bargain he'd made. Always the pirate eh Jack? Nothing like a mutiny to make a man realized how much he cared for his own skin and keeping it intact. And nothing like someone you cared about being involved to change your view of a situation.

And yet…his son was alive, and a good man. It was too much to hope that his own bargain might be ended when Jack's current round of chaos was over. But for now it was enough to now that what had through the last ten long years been only a whisper of hope, voices in the mist, was now made real. Bootstrap returned to his hijacked position at the wheel and removed the ropes holding it in place to fine tune their heading, trying to snatch every scrap of extra speed. Time or Jones' own sense of his ship (down to the last longboat) would bring discovery of the theft, he couldn't prevent that. The further away they were when it came the better.

A/N: This was inspired by the fact that I wanted to see this confrontation between Bootstrap and Jones in the film, or the dvd deleted scenes. It'll probably never happen. And Bootstrap was stupid enough to make the comment "What more can the do to me?". Never say that.


	2. Discovery

Voices in the Mist. Ch. 2

In the end it was several hours, as the solitude of the night's watch wore on unbroken. With no fixed destination and under light canvas the Dutchman could run on a skeleton crew; and all aboard would be glad of the chance to snatch a few moments of oblivion. Left with only his own thoughts Bill opted for thinking on as little as possible. Until eventually a sudden shift in the wind demanded the arrival of the crew on deck to trim sail, a change to the ship's motion no captain could miss.

The howl that followed punched out across sea and sky, echoing like the sonar calls of a hundred demented sea creatures. A frozen silence followed, no crew member wanting to be the first to move and draw any attention to themselves. Bootstrap focused intently on the task of manning the helm striving to maintain the calm he'd found last night, waiting for the aftershocks.

He started at a flicker of movement at the edge of his gaze and looked up to find Davy Jones regarding him from across the wheel with an expression of frightening calm. Bill could do nothing but stare back; knowing Jones would read confirmation in his eyes of what he already knew. No pretense possible. Yet only a single order came; "Mr Turner. Come about and reverse course" Not raised but the tones of ice carried to every crewmember on deck. Then surprisingly Jones turned and walked away, pausing to speak briefly to the mate before returning to his cabin.

He went through the motions automatically barely hearing the watch master's shouted instructions. The Dutchman swung around with a crack of canvas, almost invisible against the ocean's flat surface in the pre-dawn gloom. Running into the wind now but that was no hindrance to this ship; a predator was always happiest when the hunt was on. Soon enough the mate returned, face grimly set. "Mr Turner you are relieved of duty. _Captain's orders_". Emphasis unmistakable, a jerk of his head indicating below decks. Bill nodded relinquishing his place at the wheel, wondering when the whole situation was going to come crashing down. Already the crew were keeping their distance; no-one wanted to be in the crows nest when the lightening struck.

The crew quarters were deserted but there were also the sounds of a rapid and thorough search being made through the ship. For Will? It seemed the only explanation, he doubted Jones would let slip the information that the key was missing. Yet the life boat was clearly gone, staying on board would have been the only act crazier than the theft itself.

Perhaps half an hour later they came for him. The off duty crew were not impressed at being roused for a wild goose chase and not inclined to be gentle. By now it was common knowledge that William Turner was gone and if the details were unclear everyone knew who was going to be wearing the consequences. There was no support in their eyes as they half shoved; half dragged him up the ladder hampered by his shackled wrists, but possibly a hint of…not admiration, more amazement that a man bound to eternal servitude on a damned ship would pull something so unbelievably stupid as to attract the captain's wrath this way.


	3. Unraveling

Voices in the Mist Ch. 3

"Leave us" Jones stated, not turning around from where he stood at the far end of the cabin as Bootstrap was dragged in and dumped in the centre of the floor.

He staggered to his feet as Jones strolled over, however this 'conversation' went this time he wouldn't be begging on his knees.

"Your son is gone. I believe you know the item he 'acquired' before he left" Bill remained silent, not bothering to deny the obvious. "Where does he go now? To meet with Sparrow?" Jones enquired. "I don't know" Bill replied. The backhanded blow sent him several steps sideways, seeing stars. "Liar" Davy said casually "But since the Pearl is not in the area we have a multitude of targets to select from. Would ye care to offer any suggestions as to where we should start, or can ye live with the number of souls lost before we catch up to yer boy?"

Damned either way Bill thought. But the question combined with the earlier search raised in him a sudden wild hope…"You can't trace him. He's got no ties to you or the sea".

"His place among the living creates...difficulties" Jones' voice was flat. "And his destruction of the longboat shows perhaps some talent for covering his tracks. More than can be said for his father"

Bill barely managed not to laugh at the grudging admission. And at the irony of the situation. He'd helped in the betrayal of Jack all those years ago when he'd stood by and done nothing, and now that same inaction might just keep alive the one person he cared for.

Jones regarded him with narrowed eyes. "For one whose soul and service lie here with me you seem curiously unworried Mr Turner. No desire to make it easier on ye'self? Or is it a miracle you're hopin' for, your son defies the odds and you to rest in peace at my death?"

"He beat you once" Bill shot back, suddenly uncaring "And me? I'm already dead. Rot in the arse end of your own locker Jones, I'll tell you nothing".

The rage in the captain's eyes could have ignited even the sodden hull of the Dutchman. Well if he'd drawn any attention off of Will it would have been worth it.

A low chuckle bled rage to dark amusement. "There is more than one way to serve this ship for eternity, and not all carry the mercy of forgetfulness. Do not think you will simply be allowed to...fade into the woodwork" Without warning Jones' claw ripped out laying open Bootstrap's left forearm. Blood flowed almost black, running sluggishly into the deck at his feet. Then the same claw grasping the wound, Jones' voice cutting across Bill's snarl of pain.

"Do ye' know what drives the Dutchman? What makes her fly? Pain Mr Turner, not death but pain, and yours shall be the next to sweeten the mix…"

On the final words Bill felt himself sinking into the hull of the Dutchman, that fading of self that every crew member had felt who had ever been part of a boarding party as they traveled to the hulk of a doomed vessel. This time the fall was further. And the landing came as a mauling torrent of pain, a living thing that tore into him, the twisted stand-in for a 'soul' of the Dutchman. The endless scream of Davy Jones' unrequited love and the howls of others unknown invaded his mind ripping free memories to play with and revel in. Thoughts he strove to keep locked away. The realization that he would never see Anna again, would never have to chance to tell her the truth, or how much he loved her, a second betrayal that mocked the actions he'd taken to try and forget the look in Jack's eyes staring at him from the brig of his own ship…The Dutchman was eager for fresh meat, wanting only to lash out inflicting its own pain on others…

Gradually the world fell back into existence as Jones released his mind. Bill lay curled on the deck, the contact bringing flashbacks of the storm that ran beneath it, leaving him writhing.

And yet somewhere in the very small corner of his mind that wasn't whimpering not very quietly, he could almost pity Jones, a slave to the grief of a past long dead. Almost.

"Spare me yer pity Turner" as he was dragged up and flung against the wall "If ye'd stayed out of trouble for a decade or so ye might have been of no use, too much forgotten".

Bootstrap struggled to focus on Jones standing before him. He was holding the bo'suns whip in his claw Bill noted, numbly uncaring at the thought of more pain from that almost familiar source.

"Nothing so crude" Jones chuckled, as if reading his thoughts. "I was merely reminded that you haven't been fully informed of the current situation. Did I not mention that tracing the living becomes far easier when they're kind enough to leave a little something of themselves behind…?"

It took a moment to realise what he meant then horror howled in Bill's head. No, not that please not that.

"Nothing like the call of blood to bring on the hunt. And I'm sure the Kraken will be hungry by the time the chase is done" Jones slowly stroked the end of the lash through the tentacles of his right hand, bringing them up to inhale the faint but clear trail left by invisible blood traces, then delicately licking them as a cat cleans its whiskers of cream, an obscene parody playing in the almost loving nature of the action. Bill swallowed in disgust.

"As for you, you will be there at the end never worry; but in the meantime I'm sure you can assist in bringing us to our goal a little faster".

Bill's screams shot through with despair mingled with Jones' laughter as he tumbled into the chaos of memory, the knowledge scalding him that once again he'd failed the trust placed in him. He reached desperately for oblivion, or madness, anything to blur the images playing through his mind but the Dutchman was having none of it, never letting him forget just who they belonged to. Defenses stripped away like rotten wood…

_Anna and Will welcoming him home months early, the sum he'd brought back telling her clearly the nature of the 'tour of service'._

_But you never told her did you Bill Turner? Living a lie that held up as long as you only looked at it from the corner of your eye._

_They kept the truth from Will even deeper than they kept it from themselves._

_But the shame twisted your guts at the morality you preached to your boy, knowin' it'd be lost the next time the tide drew you out of the harbour._

_You sailed with Jack; he had a soft heart for a pirate. His own ridiculous code of honour. Cost him his ship in the end, bad luck to have a woman on board._

_Did you ever tell her about the celebrations of 'profitable voyages' in the early days? Ol' Bootstrap always knew what he wanted for his share of the 'bounty'. And Skaaldson always catered to the tastes of his crew._

_Never again after you met her. And didn't that hold up fine until the Isle de la Muerta. And Jack. And needing to forget in Tortuga when you knew you weren't going home. She screamed, you didn't care. She'd been paid._

_The life you prayed that Will would never come to. Not your boy. So what sort of life for him? Shortly, none at all. Perhaps if you'd never sent that gold it might have turned out better. _

_Saving one, damning another. Action, reaction. Bootstrap Bill. William Turner…._

Jones must have released him eventually; he didn't remember how he came to be on deck in the piercing light of morning. Watching, as ordered, as hope died on a splintering ship, voices fading in the morning mist scattered by warmth.

"Ye' need time alone with your thoughts. Brig!" And the promise, heard only by him _"Until our next trip down memory lane. Perhaps we'll stay longer next time…" _

No voices left now, but the ones inside his mind.


End file.
